A Song of Ice and Fire: The Drums of Shadow
by BambooPandaKnight
Summary: Taking place after A Dance of Dragons, the War of the Five Kings continue to die down but, the looming shadows of the Others and the long-awaited conquest of Westeros from Daenerys and the supposed "Aegon VI" Targaryens are nigh. New and old characters come in to play, but as the drums of shadows begin to play, the world will have to stand up and unite against the new shadows.
1. Tam

The ranger sitting on top of the snow covered oak branch was silently fidgeting around to get himself in a comfortable sitting position. He could hear a fox trudging its way in the thick layer of snow thirty feet from where he was crouching. The high elevation and cold forced him to lick his lips frequently. Tam wondered if he fell asleep on sentry duty he would die from being frozen to death. Maybe he just didn't have the endurance to survive in this cold. Or maybe, _winter is coming_, and maybe a terrible one.

He pulled out the ash crossbow and set his sights on a particular shadow approaching from the other side of the Gorge. The torches planted by his brothers from Westwatch-by-the-Bridge depicted a small figure making its way to the bridge connecting the tower to the Lands of Always Winter. The bridge itself was a vital and strategic location especially to Westwatch. Aside from Castle Black and the sister castle Eastwatch-by-the-Sea on the other side of the Wall, the Bridge of Skulls provide a constant alert in case of wilding raids. One notable example was the skirmish that happened a couple weeks back; Tam lost a hundred brothers in the fighting from the original four hundred. The wildings were paid back in kind with the castle's secret stash of wildfire barrels. Fifty men retreated from their warband, which the scouts counted were three hundred.

The figure was drawing closer to the bridge. Tam loaded a wooden bolt and quickly pulled out two stones to start up a small flame. He aimed directly again with a burning bolt and called out to the shadow.

"Halt!" He cried out as the wind howled with snowflakes. Tam could feel the branch supporting him quiver slowly. The figure was halfway on the bridge, and it stopped. "You've entered far enough stranger. I can't let you pass. We don't let wildings enter the realm." Tam was the ony scout awake as dawn began to emerge from the sky east from Westmarch. Besides his friend Porter, who was assigned to be on guard duty for the first watch and was probably sleeping at his post, he was the only defender standing between the lands beyond the Wall and the land of Westeros itself.

The cloaked figure made one more step, but Tam didn't fire. It looked up from its hood and the wind slowly parted it down, revealing a child's face. The sixteen year old ranger swore. _What the fuck is a child out on the bridge at this time of the watch?! _He extinguished the flame bolt and swung down from the tree, catching on other branches before executing a perfect light landing on his feet. Tam was skinny, and underneath his shaggy brown hair was a youth with freckles. He walked slowly to the stranger at the bridge. "Hello?" He asked. The child looked up and Tam got a closer look at the person he was facing. She had eyes wider than a small stone, and had frizzled dirty red hair. Her cloak was woven from vines and leaves, and she was barefoot.

_The crows must end their feast._

Tam heard a woman's voice next to him and turned around, his crossbow locked and loaded, but there was no one behind him.

_The walkers will come to rise and fufill their feat._

He turned back around. The child was the only one with him on the bridge, staring at him. "What the hell is going on here..." an annoyed Tam whispered.

_Down here, crow._

He looked down and looked at the child. She drew a line from her finger over her neck. "Oh." Tam said blankly.

_Do you know what I am? _The girl eyed him with the woman's voice in Tam's head.

"You're not a wilding... Are you?" He sank to one knee.

_We helped you and your brothers a long time ago. When there was no sky, only... night._

Tam was puzzled. He tried to remember when there was a conflict from what the child had told him, and his eyes grew wide.

The Long Night.

_The children of the forest! _Tam remarked. He remembered stories that Maester Aemon told to him before he was deployed from Castle Black about strange creatures who appear as children and aided the Night's Watch in defending the Wall in seasons past. They were magical, wise, and respected by the First Men before the Andals invasion.

_Correct, _the child told him. _It is nice to see that we are still remembered by the young ones. _

"What brings you here to this part of the Wall?" Tam asked as dawn emerged.

_They are returning. The walkers of frost and death. The night is approaching quickly, and winter has begun. The realm must ready themselves if they wish to see spring return. _

Tam gulped. He wished the Long Night would go away and come back later, probably when he was dead. "I... I am not sure how my commander will hear about this." He mumbled. The child's eyes twinkled and she gave a warm smile. She placed a hand on his face. _Do not worry, Tam. We will side with man when the time comes. For now, help me give this to the crows. I will speak to whoever is in charge so we can spread the news._

The woodland child had a bulging sack behind her, and after Tam opened it black daggers and ingots spilled out. "These are... what you killed the white walkers with." said Tam quietly as he inspected a nearby blade. _These were our weapons against the walkers. Obsedian metal is their weakness. _As Tam and the child made their way back, the spring daylight switched back to the crack of dawn, where they first met. They approach the gate of Westwatch and Tam whistles loudly.

"Tam?" A tired voice pops out from the top of the tower. "Yes Porter, it's me. Dawn's here, let me in." He called.

A chain echoes and the big double oak doors of the tower of Westwatch open, and Tam and the child walk in. "I don't suppose you have a name, do you?" Tam asks the child as they enter the tower's training grounds. "I am known to my kin and friends as Autumn." replied Autumn, her lips this time moved as they marched across the mud.

Westwatch was carved from the mountain when it was founded. The tower itself from the top had a skywell that descended five tiers of floors and at the bottom was its training grounds and assembly area. Despite being the tiniest garrison in the Watch since Lord Snow's command to regarrison the many castles with wildings, the real Westwatch was within the mountain itself. "The tunnels and caverns haven't been used in a while until now." Tam told Autumn on their walk. "The Watch uses this to shelter the wildings' women and children while the men help us against invaders."

"Ah... So this is where the free folk have migrated to?" Autumn asks. Tam nodded. "Our Lord Commander has been filling up the garrisons and castles with them, though, not everyone is too keen on having wildings accepted into Westeros." They arrive at a newly-polished door inside the tunnel. Tam knocks three times. "Eugh, hello? What is it, what do you want?" A gruff voice calls out, shuffling to the door. The door opens and a tall man steps out in black leather and fur. He had a ponytail of sandy colored hair, and a face incredibly worn out from lack of sleep with a triple claw scar running down his right eye to his chin. "Oh, Tam. You are finished with your rounds, I assume?" He asked in a husky voice. "Yes, Ser Lothor." The boy nodded. "Ser, I would like to discuss an issue that must be directed to you. Privately."

Lothor Forrester snapped. He was steward turned commander of Westwatch, which didn't surprise him. Originally, he was head cook from the Shadow Tower until Denys Mallister and the Lord Commander Jon Snow discussed who to station at the westernmost outpost along the Wall. "Alright lad. Come in." He gave way and the boy entered, Autumn quietly following quickly in tow. "Did you find anything unusual?" asked Lothor in a wheezing tone to Tam. The bag that Tam carried was sliced and the obsidian daggers and metal spilled to the floor. "Obsedian. The metals used to kill the white walkers." Tam replied. Lothor picked a dagger up and inspected it. He rubs his eyes and is fully awake with awe. "Where did you find this?" Lothor asked, his gaze fixated on the pile of black. Tam steps back to reveal Autumn standing behind him. Lothor jumps up and points the knife at her. "You brought a wilding child into Westwatch?" He hissed.

Tam alarmingly waves his arms. "Ser Lothor it's not a wilding! It's one of the children of the forest!" He assured him with his best impression of acting normal. Lothor looks at him, Autumn, and the pile of daggers before releasing himself from his defensive stance. "But... The Watch hasn't seen one in years, why-"

"Because the attention to the Wall must be paid to more instead of kings fighting each other." Autumn spoke to him, breaking his inquiry. "The walkers are coming. Winter is coming faster, human. You must send word that the Night is returning again." Her eyes were a brilliant emerald, and looked dreamy.

Lothor was dumbfounded by the news. For a couple minutes, silence had filled the room, and then Lothor turned to Tam. "Tam, get me my wineskin quickly." He ordered. The boy quickly went to his table and gave it to him. The man took a swig a couple times and called it. "Do you know how much shit I'll get barked for when Jon hears about this?" He asks, staring at the small fireplace. "First we let wildings enter, and now suddenly magic children and the Others returning. Next thing you know Daenerys invades Westeros at the same time." He added with a snigger. "Alright. Tam. I am going to be sending you, and thankfully you didn't get assigned to a shittier commander because they would have killed the girl on sight, to King's Landing. I will begin preparations for letters that I will write for King Tommen and Lord Snow. Snow must be dealt with first for permitting you to enter the realm, otherwise you'll get your head chopped off for desertion without reason. Tommen from what I've heard is a good lad, better than Joffrey. He'll likely consider sending troops for the wall now that the War of the Five Kings is dying. This mission all falls in you, Tam. The walkers are coming. Westeros isn't ready. It needs a branding on the ass. Do you have the balls of a Night's Watch brother to protect the realm?"

Tam looked at Autumn. _The rough language is what I don't like about your friend there, but he has a point. _Her woman voice echoes in his head. _Do you have what it takes to be a brother of the Night's Watch and protect the realms of men?_

The ranger looked to Lothor. "Well, fuck. I made my vows. There is no turning back. I'll do it." He said firmly to the two. Lothor nodded and Autumn smiled again, more like a child's. "Good. You've earned a day's off. You'll need it for the long road ahead. Dismissed."


	2. Django

The young Django Toran gripped onto the railing of the _Bullheaded Bitch_ as it sailed in smoothly next to the dock across the town of Barrowton, impatiently waiting for the dockmaster to come up and allow him and the other guests to leave. He believed at first that the trip to Westeros would be smooth sailing from the Golden Isles, but after delays with the _Bitch_ being blown off course and reaching civilization the next two weeks later, he concluded that boats were the worst means of transportation he had traveled on. He collected his belongings as he waited in line down the plank for the customs officer to begin inspections and tried to avert looking at the awe struck eyes his fellow passengers gave upon him.

"Oi! You pisspot, the one with the fuckin' weird armor, up front and center!" The officer, or what appeared to be an officer called to him from a table. He was dirty to be an official, such as wearing an unkempt leather cap and uniform. The official was holding a halberd one hand and ready to write something on his small book with a quill on the other. "You don' look like you're from Westeros, or Essos, no one expects a Free City trade merchant to show up to this part of the North. I'm going to hafte write you down down on this here register," the man points to his book, "so if you can be so kind, tell me 'oo you are, 'here you from, and wot business you have 'ere."

_Is this the type of greeting in Westeros? Independent speech for an official?_ Django wondered. He must be working very far from where he came from. "Erm... Hello. I am Django Toran of Clan Toran, envoy of the Zaori people and of the Golden Isles west of here. I am here to-"

"Hold on a fucking minute," the official growled, startling the adolescent. The official was trying keep up entering information from Django's introduction, and made a number of errors in his entry. "Alright, go on." He finished, ready to write again.

"I am here to expand trade beyond our land to yours and would like an audience with your ruler for discussion." The Zaori boy said in a perfect Common accent. Django looked at the journal as the man finished up. "Aight, check to make sure I got your information correct, boy." He slid the journal down to the other side of the table with the quill and ink to Django, who studied it closely before ripping the page off and rewriting it in the Common language. The official simply shrugged. "Well, to start us off here mate, you speak good Common. Second, never had any of your kind up around these parts. This... Zowry people aren't registered from the register and since you're obviously not a Targaryen or someone from King's Landing, I'll have to inspect you. Place yore weapons an' armor on the table." Django passed back the journal and obeyed. Two more guards showed up from the town across river as dawn broke, an as Django removed his armor he saw more and more commonfolk appear. He placed his spear and short sword on the table, his father's red scarf, his light chain and bamboo chestmail and chaps, and boots before the official and guards and shivered against the quiet morning wind.

"Search 'im." The customs official ordered. One guard came up, and pressed around Django's clothing with his hands. The other guard and the official were grinning wickedly at Django's gear and muttering quietly.

"Armor's thick as dragon."  
>"Look at 'is sword! This is a beaut' compared to the Valyrian steel swords."<br>"Aye, same goes for the spear. This boy comes from a wealthy land."  
>"Oi, pisspot! Where'd you say you from?" The official asked.<p>

"The Golden Isles, sir." Django said as the guard next to him finished inspection. "Boy's clean sir." He spoke, giving a light ruffle of Django's spiky black hair before facing the official. At least I feel more welcomed with him. "Good, good. You can take your gear back boy." The official and the guard placed Django's weapons back on the table. "One question before releasing you: Wot's that sword and spear of yours made of?" The official asked as Django was putting his armor on. "Zaori steel sir."

"Valyrian steel!" One of the guards murmured. He's deaf "I can tell."  
>"No, not Valyrian. Zaori." Django muttered, taking his weapons back. "Where I come from, the dragons there forge the weapons not to bring fear in battle, but to show individuality, respect, and honor in combat." He sheathed his katana and spear. "I guess you can say without disrespecting both cultures, they're dragon steel."<p>

"Aye. We'll keep it at that, boy, enough of this." The guard next to the official told him. The official spoke. "Now listen here pisspot. King's Landing is almost a day's march from here if you want to go yabber all you want to King Tommen and have your feet die out. However, because I'm starting to take a liking to you, I have a leaflet here that you'll give to the horse master at the other side of town. He'll see to it you'll get a horse for free. I'd have you go to see House Bolton, but with the War finishing up and the Starks dead, the North is more dangerous with the Greyjoys fucking about 'ere as the War dies down."

_House Bolton? Starks? The Greyjoys?_ Django was perplexed at the news. He read about the families ruling Westeros's major regions. The Greyjoys were a house ruling from the nearby Iron Islands, and probably a rebellious one from what the official spoke. The Starks were the principal house in the North from where Django had landed, but was unaware of the other, House Bolton. "I'll follow your advice, and may the autumnal blossoms guide you." He nodded to the trio, sprinkling cherry blossom leaves on the table with a small pile of gold dragons and setting off.

Django made his way to the stables just like how the official told him where, and creakily opened the doors. The horses looked up in excitement. Django came up to one grey stallion and started petting it, giving a couple sugar cubes from his pouch and feeding to start a bond.

"My word, you certainly know how to handle horses, most of these brutes are unwelcoming to guests." A voice popped behind Django. He turned and faced a small, chubby man who smiled at him. "Oh, for a lad like you, you must be incredibly young to be out venturing! Where are my manners? Name's Beron, I'm in charge of these horses. How can I help you?" He pulled out his hand. Django shook and grinned. "This is a beautiful horse you have here. It's a pleasure to meet you Master Beron, I am Django from the Golden Isles, west from the Sunset Sea. I am in need of your best horse here, for I would like an audience with your King Tommen Baratheon in hopes of opening trade from my people to yours."

Beron looked impressed. "Well, hearing another land like yours is as rare as meeting a Targaryen from Valyria! As for the horse, well... you're looking at him. Meet Bismarck." He nodded to the stallion. "If you want to purchase him, that'll be two hundred gold dragons."

Django looked thunderstruck. _Two hundred?! I thought a single gold dragon can buy you a two dozen loaves of bread here!_ "Erm, I have a note here written by the customs official granting me a horse, master Beron." He held up the paper. Beron read through it slowly. "Aw, blast it lad, I wanted to keep Bismarck, hoping to start a whole new breed from his line because he's rare in Westeros. And powerfully built to be a stallion. No worries though, his mate will start giving birth soon." Beron patted the horse's nose, who in return muzzled his hand. "Tell you what, one hundred gold dragons and the paper. How about it lad?" He asked Django.

Django was impressed by the man's reason. "If you were born on the Golden Isles and gave that type of bargain, you would be a compassionate man across the Sunset Seas. And for that, I'm willing to compensate. Make it two hundred and fifty." He gave two small bags and the sheaf of paper. Beron was astounded by this.

"I... Lad, I wish there were more honorable men like you who are selfless here in Westeros. I know you would refuse if I simply gave back the money, I just wanted to see how far you would go beyond to get your horse. For that, the horse is yours. I don't want your money." He passed the money back. Django smiled at his decision. "The compassionate man becomes the selfless man. I promise, Master of Horses, I will give your horse the utmost care and comfort you have given him. Where I come from, we treat our beasts as equals. Bismarck without a doubt will be treated like one."

Beron, teary-eyed, smiled at the boy. "The Golden Isles, eh? Sounds like paradise. Better than this stinking potland of Westeros without a doubt." Him and Django helped ready Bismarck for traveling, and Beron lifted Django up with surprising strength as if he was a feather. "Take care of yourself, Django of the Golden Isles. And be careful on the roads! The War isn't over, so mind who you meet." He told him as Django looked to the sun rising.

"This War... What is it? Forgive me, I am not well-acquainted with what the Houses here in Westeros have been quarrelig about, my people have not heard news about them in a long time." Django asked curiously. Beron told him in summary. "The King, Tommen Baratheon, people want him overthrown, rumor has it he's a child of incest, of Lannister blood! He's a good lad from what I've heard from my folks living in the capital of King's Landing, though I'd prefer an actual Baratheon if not Lannisters, those damned fools. Anywho, Stannis Baratheon, Tommen's uncle, is on his way to taking the throne back, you've got the Greyjoys taking over Winterfell, and the idiots following the fall of the Starks, the Boltons, are getting their asses branded by them! Like I said, mind yourself lad!" Beron patted on Bismarck's rear.

Django finally understood what has been going on upon his arrival. He gripped Beron's shoulder. "Thank you for the news, Beron. I will follow your advice to the roads. May the autumnal blossoms guide you." Django handed him the same cherry blossom petals he gave to the guards earlier. "And may the old gods bless you, Django of the Golden Isles." He said in farewell as Django signaled Bismarck to trot.

The young stranger from the lands beyond the West happily waved back to his first newfound friend in the land of Westeros.


	3. Nyssa

The brush of the wind swept into the room as the sun was at its peak in the sky, waking Nyssa Mallister. After stretching her arms, she sat up in bed and pulled the sheets over her bare body. _Seagard's winds grow colder by the minute_, she thought. She leaned over to reach a fur robe hung at the end of her bed and wrapped herself, shivering as she got out of bed. Nyssa liked the wind, she imagined it as an invisible playmate that flew and would play with her long black hair when she was little. The stone floor wasn't welcome to her feet on the other hand, they sent a chill up her body as she made her way to the carved window seat.

As she looked down from her room in the castle of Seagard, the port town in the castle's outer wall raised decorations between wooden buildings. Gulls were hovering around and looking for empty spaces on the roofs to settle for a while. Nyssa felt herself starting to sweat so she opened her robe to expose a bit of her naked body to the wind. She had light brown skin, a rounded face with full lips, and a body of curve and elegance from her full breasts and rear. The doors of her room opened with a creak, and her mother Mirah entered. Nyssa quickly covered herself with her robe.

"The little bird is awake at last!" She greeted her warmly as she sat next to her. Her mother resembled Nyssa, and wore a purple shawl around her head. "Hello Nyssa." Mirah said sweetly, kissing Nyssa's brow. "Good morning, Mother." Nyssa replied with a smile. "I have your day's dress already washed and ready, and we're going to have to make your washing a bit quick, Lord Frey is expected to arrive with his family later today." Mirah told her, helping her up and going to the bathing room together.

"Lord Frey is coming? But why?" Nyssa asked as they walked down the hall. Her house of Mallister was a noble house in service to the now Wardens of the Riverlands, the House Frey. Nyssa disliked the Freys, their visits on Seagard had the many bastards and pureborns spawned from the shriveled patriarch Walder Frey attempting to court her to no avail. She was seen by many in the Riverlands to be one of the most beautiful, but she had never thought about her looks. "Why, it is tradition for the new house of the Riverlands to go tour the noble houses who sworn and bent the knee to them. Have you been forgetting Septa Layanne's lessons again? By the Mother, you must be schooled more often." She sighed.

After her washing, her mother and a maid walked with her back to her room and anointed scented oils of the Seven on her body. Mirah was a strong believer in the Faith of the Seven, everywhere in Seagard she would be with the priestesses and the local septon giving blessing to the commonfolk. Nyssa slipped on a light green dress and Mirah and her maid set to work.

"Mother, you're making my dress tight." Nyssa choked as Mirah tightened up the laces covering her cleavage. "Nyssa dear, you know that I tighten your dress when the moment comes. I had always prayed that the Father and Mother will find and guide a proper suitor to you later today." Her mother reassured her as she finished up pinning and fixing the dress. Mirah's maid came in with a small box and unlocked it. Mirah pulled from inside a winged crown of silver, with an amethyst jewel in the center.

"Mother, this is pretty." Nyssa murmured in awe. "It is forged from Valyria, the crown has lived in history dating back to Aegon's conquest." Mirah told her. "It is also said that it brings love at first sight to any maiden wearing it." She placed the crown on Nyssa's head. "Come child, we can't keep our guests waiting." They walked down the steps into the meadhall, where the commonfolk and nobles welcomed and greeted her and Mirah. Nyssa took her place with her mother and sat down, commencing the start of lunch.

Nyssa was enjoying a baked salmon the cooks prepared earlier and was about to begin a second helping before the dining hall doors flew open, revealing a large group outside. She could see banners bearing a sigil of two towers connected by a bridge over a body of water. A small herald makes his way to the royal table and began to speak:

"The Lord of the Crossing and the Riverlands, Walder Frey has arrived." He called, bowing to Mirah and Nyssa. "Bring him forth," Mirah announced. "he and his newly-crowned House of the Riverlands is always welcome here to Seagard." The procession gave way and four men carrying a throne came forward, carrying the most frail and decaying man Nyssa had ever seen. He was sulken, bald, with little hair. She can't imagine how Walder Frey managed to live this long for an average life. He looked no more to be past ninety. The men carefully placed the throne down in front of the Mallister table and quickly rushed forward to help their master get on his feet.

He was lifted out and supported by two men; one went to grab a fur coat and another went get his walking stick. "Well well well," he croaked to the two women. "if it isn't the ladies of Seagard themselves."

"Lord Walder Frey." Mirah bowed, Nyssa following along with the gesture. "I extend my sincere congratulations on becoming the new lord of the Riverlands. Everyone here on behalf of Seagard wishes you a happy-"

The walking cane stomped on the floor twice, silencing her. "There is no need for that, Lady Mallister." Walder's head shook slowly. "I already know you bastards and bitches well enough." The only sound allowed to make noise was just the torches flickering while the Seagard residents looked in shock. "My Lord, if you could-" Mirah started, but Walder interrupted her again. "No need again, Mallister. Do not play dumb to me." He limped slowly around the room.

"I am dying, as you dog pile shit brains probably knew. The healers say I might not be able to make it out alive for this winter." Walder's shriveled hands shakily grip the fur robe covering him to stay warm. "Your husband bent the knee to my great-grandson Walder, to save this crumbling rock on a cliff and your son Patrek, that fool following the death of Robb Stark and his mother." He made his way to the front of the royal table. "I am willing to pardon their mistakes," Walder said in a hushed and grave tone. He looks to Nyssa and grins wickedly. "if your loving daughter here becomes my great-grandson's wife."

_M-m-me?_ Nyssa froze. She glanced to the man the Lord of the Crossing was referring to. The great-grandson of Lord Frey was nicknamed "Black" Walder for his quick temper and resolute behavior, and the black hair and beard distinguished him from the many Freys that were named Walder. He gave the same snivelled grin the elder Walder made earlier. Nyssa felt afraid. Mirah had been adamant since the first remark Walder threw at her. "Will you permit Nyssa and I for a few moments to... discuss this matter, Lord Frey?" She asked. He bowed, and a little drop of drool fell from his mouth and on Nyssa's plate. "Of course, milady." He murmurs. Mirah takes Nyssa by the arm and departs the dining hall. "Tirael, continue the feast. Make sure the Freys are well... entertained." She added, winking to the castle steward as they hurried off.

"Where are we going?" Nyssa asked worriedly as they made their way down the hall. "I am not allowing that skeleton have my daughter's hand given to a man barbaric as Maegor the Cruel. I am sorry Nyssa, but I take full responsibility for having you stay with me here at Seagard." Mirah said quickly. "If your brother Patrek had been with us before returning, we would have declared our home as neutral to the conflict that is going on." They made a right and went down a spiral staircase. "The Freys are taking power by the day, Nyssa. I didn't want you to know while you were having lessons with Septa Layanne, I wanted you to be safe from the dangers of the outside world."

"You're sending me away," Nysssa stopped as they approached the door to the castle stables. "but Mother I should be staying with you!" She said in protest, trying to contain the recent news and tears. "And have you be beaten and abused with a man like that? Absolutely not, and not under my roof!" Mirah fired back. "The world is a dangerous place, Nyssa Mallister. _Winter is coming._" She hissed the words of House Stark. "The War of the Five Kings still continues as long as Lord Stannis Baratheon lives, and with the Greyjoys occupying the North, your best chance is to make your way to the Eyrie. The Vale is cold, and harsh, but the land remains untouched by war."

"What about Father?" asked Nyssa as they entered the stables. Mirah whistled a stableboy from sleep and began preparations to a horse nearby. "Jason is currently being held captive at the Twins. I have sent Lord Baelish a letter beforehand last night of our situation and has agreed to keep you under his care until the moment is right to take back our home and the North." Mirah replied. "Help me fill the saddle pockets from inside the bag there," she pointed to the table. "Mother, you are telling me confused ends of a rope. I need answers. Why is Father taken prisoner? Wh-" Nyssa asked angrily shoved food into the pcoket before Mirah silenced her. "A Mallister takes orders, not asks questions frequently." Mirah said. "But I will tell you this. The Freys were the ones that caused the Red Wedding."

Nyssa's jaw dropped, and a pear fell from her hands. "The Starks broke their promise to Walder Frey when their son Robb married that Westerling girl instead, and your father left quietly to aid in reclaiming Riverrun from the Freys. But then your brother was captured, and Jason..." Mirah stopped and began to weep. Nyssa came and hugged her, patting and silently tears rolled down her face. "I understand now, Mother." She told her in her ear. Nyssa began to fill the pockets again before she jumped back from placing a sharp object she found. "Ow!" She snapped, sucking her finger. Mirah unravled the cloths and rags. Inside, a blade gleamed against the daylight. It was longer than a dagger, but short of an average sword's range. "This is also a family heirloom?" Nyssa giggled. "No, but I asked the smith to make one in case of danger." replied Mirah. She helped Nyssa on top of the mare. "Your crown!" She said quickly. Nyssa pulled it from her head and handed it to the stableboy. The door opene and everyone jumped in fright. It was the steward, Maester Tirael. He was tall, sinewy, with a streak of grey over his orange hair from underneath his hood. "The drug has been performed milady, and they will awake in an hour. The grogleech will have their memories wiped prior to their entrance, but I require your services in coming up with a cover story."

"Then our plans will be accelerated, Maester Tirael." a gallant Mirah Mallister said. "I am sorry, my daughter, but this is the time where you and I part ways." Nyssa looked at her with sad eyes. "Fear not, little bird. Do you remember the words of our house?" asked Mirah."

"_Above the rest._" Nyssa repeated. She assumed that the words meant the Mallisters were first in action, and in any choice they made. "Why?"

"You need to think first, Lady Nyssa. Once word spreads out of your disappearance, you're going to have to come up with a new identity. And if you come under trouble, you need to be resourceful, Nyssa. That is the meaning of our words. Be one step ahead of everyone else." Tirael told her. "Now go!"

"You'll receive a carrier bird in two days' time. If it carries a clove, it means that I am on my way to the Vale soon. If it carries a red cloth, then you must stick our original plan. Help Lord Baelish reclaim Winterfell, and you will have the pack of the North behind you to take back our home." Mirah said in a farewell tone. "Go, Nyssa, my daughter! And remember! Above the rest." She slapped the mare to gallop and Nyssa Mallister rode off from the home of her ancestors, now occupied by the Freys.

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><p><strong>NEXT CHAPTER: STANNIS BEGINS THE SIEGE OF WINTERFELL!<strong>


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